


The End of the Day

by theimprobable1



Series: The End of the Road [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimprobable1/pseuds/theimprobable1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>The End of the Road</i>. Martin's boyfriend had a tiring day. Martin makes it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. I wrote this mostly for my own peace of mind, but decided to post it in case someone wants to read a more detailed version of Martin's happy ending. (Yes, it is very fluffy and schmoopy.)

“Tom!” Martin exclaims, surprised, when he opens the door of his tiny bedsit and finds Tom standing awkwardly in front of him.

“Hi,” Tom smiles a bit sheepishly. He is uncharacteristically smartly dressed – black trousers, pale blue shirt, suit jacket slung over his arm. It’s far from his usual style, and Martin immediately feels self-conscious in his old pair of jogging bottoms. Tom looks tired – he’s pale and there are dark circles under his eyes.

“Is everything all right?” Martin asks. Tom never comes to his flat without texting or calling first.

“Yes, yes, I just… wanted to see you.” He hesitates. “It’s okay if you’re busy, of course, I…”

“No, it’s fine,” Martin interrupts him. “You can come anytime you want. Come in.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom says as he enters. “I just had a terrible day and I thought… well, I was kind of hoping…” he looks at Martin with a hint of the spark that sometimes appears in his eyes and that Martin loves, “that you could perhaps kiss it better.”

There is a burst of warmth in Martin’s chest at the reminder that _he_ is the one Tom seeks out when he’s feeling low, that it’s _him_ that Tom wants comfort from. He kicks the door shut and crowds Tom against the wall.

“I can certainly try,” he whispers, tilting his head up, and he presses his lips to Tom’s. Tom responds eagerly, and they kiss slowly for a while, until Martin can feel Tom’s body relaxing against him. Kissing Tom is perfect. It has been perfect ever since the clumsy first kiss on Martin’s doorstep three months ago, and somehow it continues to get better every time. Martin can’t imagine ever tiring of it.

“Better?” he asks when they pull apart slightly. Tom nods and then buries his face in the crook of Martin’s neck, wrapping his arms around him.

“Feels so good to be with you,” Tom murmurs. Martin runs his hand soothingly up and down Tom’s back.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Nothing really,” Tom says without letting go of Martin. “Just my general inability to be a normal human being.”

“What do you mean?”

Tom sighs and straightens up.

“I did some interpreting today,” he says in a tone appropriate for announcing the death of a close family member.

“Oh? I thought you didn’t do that.”

“I don’t, usually. And I have a very good reason for it, which is that I’m terrible at it.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Martin says, playing with a few strands of Tom’s soft hair. “You translate texts I can barely understand in English.”

Tom shakes his head. “That’s different. I can sit at home in peace and quiet and think about what I’m doing. I don’t have to _say_ anything. Or interact with people.”

“So why did you do it, when you obviously dislike it?”

“It was Alicia. I told you she’s an interior designer, right? She called me this morning that her latest clients turned out to be a Russian couple who couldn’t speak a word of English. And she’s my best friend, I couldn’t let her down just because it’s something I hate doing.”

“And it went badly?”

“Well, no, not really,” Tom says, pulling out of Martin’s embrace and draping his jacket over the back of a chair. “The clients were really nice, they didn’t mind when I fumbled a bit or anything. It was all very laid-back and relaxed. Apart from me, obviously. Basically, I came here to complain about how I had to suffer the terrible fate of having to _talk to someone._ Because I perpetually fail at the simple task of basic human interaction.”

Tom slumps on the sofa and runs his finger through his hair, looking very frustrated with himself. Martin sits down next to him, placing a hand on his thigh.

“You interact with me just fine,” he reminds him.

“Because I _know you_. And because you’re incredibly easy to get along with and generally wonderful. And don’t you remember how I was at the beginning? I’d still be trying to muster the courage to ask you out if Uncle Douglas hadn’t locked us in the wine cellar.”

Martin smiles at the memory.

“At least you never start stuttering and talking about planes,” he says. It has the intended effect of making Tom smile.

“You’re adorable when you do that.”

“And you’re the only one who thinks so, thank god. Anyway, you said it didn’t go badly. You did what was expected of you, you translated everything and Alicia was able to do her job, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“So,” Martin doesn’t let him finish, “clearly, you won. It was difficult for you, but you still did it.”

“I suppose,” Tom sighs, resting his head on Martin’s shoulder. “I know there isn’t really anything to complain about. It’s just that I was up until four in the morning polishing a translation, and then I was on edge all the time and it just completely drained me. When it was over, I just wanted to go home and sleep for a day, and then stay at home for a week without speaking to anyone, but I calmed down a bit on the train, and I decided I’d much rather see you. I’m sorry about all the whining.”

“It’s okay,” Martin assures him and kisses the top of his head. “Who should you pour your heart to if not me?”

Tom gives him a resigned smile, the one that doesn’t show his teeth and the left corner of his mouth is higher than the other, and Martin just _has_ to kiss him. He likes snogging Tom on the sofa almost as much as he likes being a pilot. He supposes there are things involving Tom that he would love even more than kissing, but they aren’t that far yet.

Martin supposes that most couples would have started sleeping together ages ago, but they are taking things slowly. From what Tom told him and how he reacted to some things, Martin has gathered that Tom’s last boyfriend hadn’t been very nice, and he certainly hadn’t tried to make sex a pleasurable experience for Tom. Tom wasn’t very specific about what exactly had gone on in that relationship (if it could be called that), and Martin didn’t push – he doesn’t want to make Tom relive any bad memories. He wants to give him new, better ones.

He doesn’t mind that they haven’t had sex yet. He minds the reason _why_ they haven’t, of course – just the thought that someone _hurt Tom_ makes him feel furious and panicky and fiercely protective at the same time – but he doesn’t mind the waiting itself. It’s probably for the best, anyway – the slower they take things, the lesser the chance that Martin will do something wrong and make a hash of everything.

Martin just really likes being with Tom and he wants to make it last, and he wants Tom to like it just as much, if possible. He feels like he’s finally found a place where he belongs, and Martin has never belonged anywhere before (or perhaps on the flight deck, but even that’s probably a bit of a stretch – he did fail his exams seven times). He felt the same way about John, granted, so it doesn’t really mean anything, but Martin can’t help but believe that Tom genuinely likes to be with him and doesn’t have any ulterior motives for it. Martin didn’t believe that something like that was possible, but now it looks like it could be, and Martin can’t let it fail.

He kisses Tom with all he has; he doesn’t know how to kiss any other way, because every time they kiss feels like the perfect opportunity to show Tom how much he means to Martin, how much Martin wants to give him everything he can. It still feels like a miracle, that a gorgeous and caring man who has some degree of knowledge of at least a half of European languages should be interested in someone mediocre like Martin, but he is. Martin has been observing him with paranoid dedication for months, and he had to conclude that Tom’s interest in him is sincere. And so Martin kisses him to show how grateful he is, and Tom kisses back like he never wants to let go and perhaps like he’s a little grateful, too.

They part for breath, and Martin’s dazed brain suggests that they should probably stop now, before it becomes heated and insistent and Tom grows uncomfortable. He pulls away only slightly, keeping his hand in Tom’s hair and pressing their foreheads together. He notes with satisfaction that Tom doesn’t seem very keen to pull away, either – quite the opposite, even. He presses close and drops kisses on Martin’s jaw, and Martin can feel his arms tightening around Tom even as he thinks that he should let go. He should, really, but Tom’s mouth on his neck feels wonderful and Tom’s skin is warm and soft and –

“Beans on toast,” he blurts when he realises that his right hand had somehow found its way under Tom’s shirt.

“What?” Tom asks breathlessly. His pupils are blown wide, the hazel irises barely visible.

“I mean, dinner,” Martin stutters, pulling away from him. “I was just about to have dinner when you arrived. We could have beans on toast, or, uh…” He should probably offer his boyfriend something better than that, but what Carolyn pays him barely covers the rent and he hasn’t taken a van job in ages, because he prefers to spend his free time with Tom, so he doesn’t _have_ anything better. “Or we could order in a pizza! There’s a place just round the corner, I could…”

“Beans on toast is fine,” Tom says, and Martin suddenly thinks that maybe they shouldn’t have stopped this time. Maybe it was the right moment. Tom didn’t flinch or tense when Martin’s hands slipped under his shirt, like he had on a couple of previous occasion. Maybe Martin ruined it by panicking needlessly. That would be just like him.

But Tom smiles at him and ruffles his hair (Martin loves it when he does that) and asks about his day, so perhaps it’s all right. They have dinner (Martin finds out that the rather bland tomato sauce tastes much better when kissed off Tom’s lips) and they move back to the sofa to watch a film.

Tom falls asleep on Martin’s shoulder, and for a while Martin basks in the feeling of having Tom’s warm weight settled against him. Then he extricates himself from under him, washes the dishes and gets ready for bed, all the while taking lengthy breaks to watch Tom’s sleeping face. He’d love to let him sleep, but one of the many drawbacks of his bedsit is that it’s really tiny, so Martin has to make do with a fold out sofa instead of a proper bed. And Tom couldn’t sleep comfortably in this position, anyway.

Martin wakes him with a kiss.

Tom blinks at him sleepily for a moment and then sits up abruptly. “God, I’m sorry! I can’t believe I fell asleep. What time is it? I’m sorry, I’ll go…”

“It’s all right, you can stay,” Martin says, and he can feel himself blushing, which is really ridiculous, because he doesn’t mean anything by asking Tom to stay. It’s completely innocent and therefore not a reason to blush.

Tom studies his face carefully and then nods. “Okay. Thanks.”

Tom disappears into the bathroom and Martin starts making the bed with a nervous sense of anticipation. It’s probably odd to share a bed when they haven’t had sex yet. Maybe they shouldn’t. Martin could sleep on the floor, it wouldn’t be a problem, really…

He hears the shower start, and his mind instantly goes completely blank with the knowledge that Tom is taking a shower right now. He’s probably naked. God, of course he’s naked, obviously he doesn’t shower with his clothes on. He’s naked just behind that thin door, water falling on his shoulders and back and – Stop. What an entirely inappropriate train of thought before a night of platonic bed-sharing.

“The blue towel is clean,” Martin calls out when he hears the water stop, and he hopes his voice doesn’t sound too squeaky. It probably does.

And then the door opens, and Martin notices that Tom found the blue towel all right, as it is currently wrapped around his hips.

Martin… stares. He stares and he can feel blood rushing to his cheeks and… well. Elsewhere, too.

“Hello,” Tom says, and there is a blush creeping up his face too, but his hair is brown and not red, so it actually looks good on him. Very, very good.

Martin tries to formulate a response, which is when he realises that his mouth is hanging open and promptly shuts it.

“Come here,” Tom says, in a strange undertone of shyness mixed with determination, and Martin does. Of course he does.

This time it’s Tom’s hands that slip under Martin’s t-shirt, sending a shiver down his spine.

“What… what are you doing?” Martin asks, because apparently that’s the best thing he can say to his scantily clad boyfriend.

“What does it look like?” Tom says, pulling Martin close and kissing his neck. Martin’s hands come up to rest on Tom’s back (his very naked and still slightly damp back), and he can feel tension drain out of Tom under his touch. It’s amazing. He shifts his hips and Tom’s erection presses against his own, and Martin makes a very undignified noise that sounds a bit like a strangled yelp.

“You’ve been so patient,” Tom whispers against his neck, “but I don’t want to wait anymore. You’re so beautiful.”

Martin breathes in sharply, and he’s completely, utterly lost. He catches Tom’s mouth with his own and pulls him down onto the bed. His thoughts narrow to Tom, his scent, his taste, the feel of his hands and lips on Martin’s body, and the intention to make this good for him, to erase every less than perfect experience Tom has ever had.

The towel gets lost somewhere and then so does Martin’s clothing, and Tom’s gorgeous body is laid out on display for him and Martin wants to worship single inch of it, and he does, and then he takes Tom in his mouth and it’s perfect, glorious, the sounds Tom makes, breathy moans and encouragement and profanities but mostly just inarticulate versions of Martin’s name, the weight of his cock in Martin’s mouth, his hand resting gently in Martin’s hair. Martin reaches for Tom’s other hand that has been gripping the sheets and squeezes it tightly, and Tom comes with a wordless groan, his release flooding Martin’s mouth.

Tom tugs at his hair, pulling his head up, and kisses him clumsily, all the while whispering brokenly, “Thank you, thank you, you’re amazing, thank you.” Martin wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to thank him, but Tom keeps kissing him and then he wraps his hand around Martin’s achingly hard cock and it’s all mindless pleasure and rising heat until the world bursts into bright darkness entirely too soon.

Tom is dropping soft kisses on Martin’s face when his brain comes back online, and he’s looking at Martin with bright eyes. Martin smiles at him stupidly, and the answering grin on Tom’s face is the best thing in the world. Tom finds the towel somewhere and cleans them both up, and Martin settles his head on Tom’s chest and he knows beyond any doubt that he wants Tom forever. It’s a little frightening, because it’s only been a year since John left and six months ago Martin was still a wreck and perhaps he shouldn’t have fallen in love again so quickly. Somehow, though, he doubts he could have found someone better than Tom if he had waited for years, and he’s determined to do all in his power to keep him.

“Martin?” Tom whispers, and there’s something in his voice that makes Martin lift his head and look at him.

“Yes?”

“I think… I think I love you.”

Martin’s heart swells with happiness, and it takes him a moment before he can answer.

“Me too,” he says, and his voice sounds ridiculously high-pitched but he doesn’t care. “I – I mean, I don’t mean that I too think you love me, I don’t think… that is, I do think so now that you’ve told me, but that’s not what I… I meant to say I think I love you too. I love you too.”

God, that was meant to be their perfect moment, and Martin ruined it by his complete inability to string a coherent sentence together. Only Tom doesn’t look like he thinks Martin ruined it, no, he’s smiling and pulling Martin into a kiss, and it is perfect, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and his boyfriend indulge in some private time, and somehow everybody seems to know about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened. Somehow this just grew an extra chapter. I promise this is the last one, though.

Martin wakes to Tom nibbling at his ear. He hums contentedly without opening his eyes, and places a hand on the small of Tom’s back to pull him closer.

“Good morning,” Tom whispers, his breath tickling the skin on Martin’s neck.

“Good morning,” he says, and as he moves a little his thigh brushes against Tom’s erection. “Slept well?” he asks, shifting his thigh experimentally. Tom sighs.

“Hmm, yes. Waking up was better, though. You smell lovely.” He finds Martin’s mouth and kisses him deeply. Martin has a distant thought that he hasn’t brushed his teeth, but it disappears with the clever swirls of Tom’s tongue, and then Tom moves on top of him and rocks his hips.

They both gasp when their cocks slide against each other, and they move lazily together in perfect bliss for a while. The feel of Tom’s body on top of his is overwhelming, but at the same time it’s not enough and Martin wants more. He wants everything.

“There are condoms and lube in the top drawer,” he breathes against Tom’s mouth.

Tom lifts his head to look at him. “You…”

“I want you inside me,” Martin says, and really, given the state they’re both in, it shouldn’t make him feel embarrassed to say that. It does a little, but it’s worth seeing Tom’s eyes darken with desire.

Martin enjoys the view when Tom gets up to rummage through Martin’s chest of drawers, feeling so impossibly happy and in love he thinks he might burst.

“Don’t let me hurt you,” Tom says when he comes back.

“You won’t,” Martin assures him and spreads his legs, tingling with anticipation and arousal. Tom places a pillow under his hips and proceeds to open the tube of lubricant, but he looks… anxious. Almost uncomfortable. That’s not good.

“Hey,” Martin says, pulling him close. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. We can…”

“No, I do!” Tom interrupts him. “How could I _not_ want you? I just…”

“You won’t hurt me,” Martin whispers, and tries to hide how much he _hates_ the man who treated Tom with less care than he deserved. “I promise you.” He kisses him and strokes his back soothingly, and after a while Tom relaxes against him. Martin kisses him languidly, keeping the pace slow, trying to chase away Tom’s worries, and he’s rewarded when Tom grows bolder again and his mouth moves to explore other parts of Martin’s body.

“Yes,” Martin sighs when Tom’s slicked fingers rub against his entrance. He’s determined to make sure that there isn’t any doubt left in Tom’s mind about how much Martin is enjoying this. “Yes, more.”

Tom slowly works him open, taking care to brush against his prostate, until Martin is flushed and panting, his whole body trembling with want.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” Tom says breathlessly, his voice husky with arousal, and Martin wants him like he’s never wanted anything else in his life.

“Please,” he breathes. “Tom. I’m ready. I want you, please.”

 _“Yes,”_ Tom hisses, and Martin makes a disappointed noise when Tom’s fingers leave his body. He can hear Tom tear the condom wrapper open, and he moans loudly when Tom’s cock breaches him.

“Oh god,” Tom pants, bracing himself on his forearms. “Oh god. All right?”

Martin nods shakily, unable to say anything. He loves the way his body stretches around Tom, and he wants him more, deeper, he wants to be as close to him as humanly possible. He wraps his legs around Tom’s waist, and Tom pushes in further with agonising slowness until he’s all the way in and his belly brushes against Martin’s cock when he dips his head to plant a messy kiss on Martin’s lips..

“You feel amazing, so amazing,” Tom says hoarsely and he starts moving with gentle but deep and precise thrusts, and it’s perfection. Not just the act itself, not just the sparks that burst behind Martin’s eyelids, not just the overflowing cycle of movement and pleasure, but also the closeness, the fact that this is the man Martin loves and who loves him back. The only words left in the world are _Tom_ and _more_ and _yes_ and Martin makes sure to use them, loving the effect they have on Tom, the way they make him speed up and kiss him and thrust deeper and curl his hand around Martin’s rock-hard cock.

“Martin,” Tom says, stilling suddenly. “Fuck, I’m going to… too soon…”

“Yes!” Martin encourages him, rocking his hips to meet him. “Yes, come on, I want to see you, let me see you…”

Tom snaps his hips forward jerkily a few times and then stiffens and groans loudly, coming deep inside Martin’s body, and he’s so beautiful in that moment, so incredibly beautiful that it takes Martin’s breath away.

“Sorry,” Tom whispers when he pulls out of him. “I’m sorry, I should have…”

“No, it’s fine,” Martin assures him, even as his neglected cock throbs with need.

“And I’m going to make it even better,” Tom says and he wraps his lips around Martin’s cock. Martin throws his head back and moans when Tom slips two fingers back inside him. His hips buck involuntarily and the delicious dual stimulation sends him over the edge within moments. He comes with a shout, his release spilling in the wet heat of Tom’s talented mouth.

He curls himself around Tom’s body, his heart hammering against his ribs, and he feels wonderfully warm and boneless and _loved._ Tom drops soft kisses in his hair and holds him close, and Martin never wants to be away from him. They’re flying to Southampton today and Martin almost doesn’t want to go, feeling that he could easily spend the rest of his life in Tom’s embrace. But he knows that Tom will be here when he comes back, he’ll be here for Martin for hopefully a very long time, and Martin almost can’t breathe from sheer joy.

*

When Martin arrives at the airfield, Douglas is lounging in a chair in the office, reading a newspaper and very obviously _not_ doing his paperwork. Martin should be angry, he really should, but he can’t. He can’t even frown. It’s ridiculous. It’s brilliant.

“Morning, Douglas,” he says cheerfully. Douglas looks up from his paper.

“Morning, Mar… Martin! Stop it this instant!”

“What? I’m not allowed to take off my jacket?”

“Do whatever you want with your jacket. But you’re all… bouncing and glowing. Stop it. You look like Arthur after he’s been allowed to play charades.”

“Well, I’m not going to play charades, if that’s any consolation?” Martin offers, and continues smiling. He feels completely happy, and that’s not something that happens to him very often, so he won’t let whatever Douglas’s problem is interfere with it.

“No, because you’re not Arthur. With you, it means you’ve just had sex. And let me remind you that I’ve known your boyfriend since he was a tiny little baby and threw up on my new uniform. I really don’t want to know what you two did this morning in the shower. So stop it. It’s disturbing.”

“Douglas, don’t be ridiculous! _You_ hooked us up! Surely you knew we’d… do it… sooner or later?”

“Yes,” Douglas drawls. “But I was counting on the later, to be honest. It took you a month and a half – _a month and a half_ – to get his number, and then you didn’t even use it. It wasn’t an unreasonable expectation that you’d be fine with holding hands in the moonlight until well after I’m dead.”

“Ha ha, very funny. You know, just because we didn’t rush things… just because we didn’t jump straight into bed like _some people_ doesn’t mean we…” Martin stops, because Douglas is smirking at him. Of course he is, because he’s teasing Martin and Martin is doing exactly what Douglas expected him to do. As always. Except that today, Martin just doesn’t care.

“You can mock me as much as you want,” he grins. “I don’t care!” He’s almost looking forward to doing Douglas’s paperwork. Today is brilliant.

Douglas straightens up in his chair.

“I’m not mocking you. This is just my way of showing that I’m very happy for both of you, but obviously the subtlety was lost on you.”

“I… thank you,” Martin says, caught off guard. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you properly for… introducing us, and…”

“Going out of my way to force you to admit you were head over heels for each other?”

“Well, yes. Thank you.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Douglas waves his hand nonchalantly. “You’re both so socially awkward; it was obvious you’d be perfect for each other.”

Martin chuckles, and he’s glad Douglas chose to say “socially awkward” rather than “slightly damaged.”

“You _could_ repay me by letting me have the first crack at the cheese tray, though,” Douglas says smugly, “for as long as you and Tom are together.”

It would mean Martin would have to content himself with the squidgy one for hopefully a very long time. Possibly until the end of his career. Just the thought makes him almost light-headed.

“Oh, fine! Have your cheese tray. I still have the better lot.”

“You could also try to flaunt your sickening happiness a little less. Have some consideration for your unlucky colleague who’s been devastatingly single for a devastatingly long time.”

“Unlucky? You do realise that this is the only time I’ve ever been luckier than you, don’t you?”

“The _only_ time?”

“Yes.”

Douglas opens his eyes wide in exaggerated surprise.

“Martin, I certainly don’t want to know what activities you and Tom have partaken in, but do you think one of them might have damaged your brain? Because it almost sounds like you’ve forgotten that _you_ , and not me, are the Captain.”

Martin scoffs. “You know, now that you mention it, my last orgasm _was_ so intense that it left me a little dizzy.”

Douglas blinks at him. Martin can feel colour draining out of his face.

“Oh god,” he breathes. “I didn’t say that out loud, did I? Tell me I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Douglas says, and starts laughing, which is when the door flies open and Arthur bounces in, followed by Carolyn.

“Hi chaps! Have you heard that… Wow, Skip! You had sex! Mum, I win!”

“Oh for god’s sake!” Martin exclaims as Douglas collapses into another fit of laughter. “Is it written on my forehead or something? And what do you mean, you win?”

“Mum and I had a bet, you see,” Arthur explains excitedly. “She thought you’d wait until your first anniversary, and I thought you wouldn’t, so I win!”

“Carolyn! You can’t place bets on your employees’ sex life!”

“Yes I can, and I have,” Carolyn says, unfazed. “Good to see you all glowy, Martin, you won’t mind that we’re going to make a minor detour today.”

“A _minor_ detour?” Douglas asks, suddenly serious. “It sounds like we’re going to China.”

“Oh, nothing quite so dramatic,” Carolyn says with an ominous smile. “We’re flying to Southampton as scheduled, and then a quick stop in Cairo and…”

“ _Cairo?_ ” Martin cries out. “That’s in Egypt! In _Africa!_ ”

“But they don’t pull your brains out through your nose anymore in Egypt, Skip,” Arthur says. “It’s perfectly safe now.”

“But I wanted to be back home this evening.”

“I’m sure your paramour can spare you for one night. Besides, it’s sometimes good to be apart for a while,” Carolyn says, smirking at Martin. “It makes the reunion much better.”

Martin isn’t exactly delighted that he won’t get to see Tom tonight, but even that doesn’t really dampen his good mood. He’ll see him tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and then again, and again. And he’ll be flying a plane in the meantime, with Douglas and Carolyn and Arthur, and he’ll be getting paid for it. And people will still think Douglas is the captain, and his van will still break down at the most inopportune moments, and he will still be short of cash and people will still laugh at him for hundreds of reasons and thousands of things will still go wrong every day, but it doesn’t matter. He has all the important things, all the important people, and for the first time in his life he dares to believe that he’ll be able to keep them all.

He only hopes that somewhere out there, John is as happy as he is.


End file.
